Chapter 167:


    He stood and buttoned his jacket. The transformation was instant — he was no longer the desperate man in the Queens house. He was the triumphant CEO of SkyLine.


    “I have one condition,” Isolde added, her voice cold.


    “Name it.”


    “Belle can have the seat. She can have the title. But the physical prototype of the Phoenix-X7 — the one currently in Orbital’s possession — does not leave our facility. You can disy your own mockup. But you do not touch my jet.”


    Grayson waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. We have our own disy model. It’s just for show anyway.”


    He didn’t know. He didn’t know that his disy model had a fatal design w.


    “Do we have a deal?” Grayson asked.


    Isolde looked at the man she had once promised to love forever — a man now using their own child as a bargaining chip.


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    “The deal is done.”


    He walked to the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. He turned back to take in the room: the expensive table, the woman with the broken arm sitting in the hard light.


    “Isolde,” he said, his voice softening just a fraction. “If you had just stopped fighting — if you had just epted your role — we could have beenfortable.”


    Isolde rose from her chair and cradled her cast.


    “Comfortable,” she repeated. “Like a pet. Like a piece of furniture.”


    She met his eyes. “I don’t wantfort, Grayson. I want the sky.”


    Grayson shook his head, genuine pity settling across his face. “You’re grounded, Isolde. Look at you. You have nothing.”


    He opened the door and walked out into the hall.


    Isolde listened to the sound of his footsteps until they faded into silence. Then she sank back into the chair, shaking.


    She had sold her seat. She had sold her voice.


    But she smiled — a cold, sharp smile in the quiet of the empty room.


    He thought he had grounded her. He thought that taking away the “Isolde Carson” seat meant taking away her ess. He had forgotten who she really was.


    The heavy silence of the conference room pressed in on Isolde after they left. She didn’t move for a long time, simply staring at the empty space where Grayson had stood. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and the relentless throb in her arm. She had won her daughter’s freedom, but the cost felt immense.


    Finally, she pushed herself to her feet. Her phone buzzed — a notification from her security team.


    Effie is home. Safe.


    She let out a breath she felt she had been holding for days. Thepany was safe. Saul could get his treatment. Ellyn wouldn’t lose the house. And her daughter was back.


    She had sold her pride, but she had bought their safety.


    “Well,” Daron McKnight said, re-entering the room with a smug grin. He had clearly been waiting in the hall. “Looks like the former Mrs. Lancaster is officially out of the game. Back to the kitchen, Isolde? Or are you going to take up knitting with that broken arm?”


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